All around us, the Elfhollen soldiers brave the icy rain to search through wagons: looking under secured wax cloth, opening up barrels, questioning the drivers. Some of the soldiers are accompanied by heavily armed women garbed in black, their hair and eyes as dark as their uniforms. Their uniforms bear glowing blue rune-marks that are so beautiful, I can’t tear my eyes away,
“Are those Vu Trin soldiers?” I ask Lukas, transfixed by the sight of the lethal-looking women and their shimmering rune-marks.
Lukas nods, eyeing them with what looks like respect. “They’re a guest military force here. They control the western and eastern passes through the Spine. Their presence is part of the treaty agreement that formally ended the Realm War.”
“It’s strange to me,” I say, marveling at the curved swords the Vu Trin carry at their sides and the rows of silver throwing stars strapped across their chests. “Women as soldiers.”
Lukas seems amused by this. “The men of their race don’t have any magic. But the women more than make up for it, believe me.”
A tall Vu Trin motions sharply for a group of Kelts on horseback to halt, her face steel-hard. Her uniform’s arms are marked with lines of circular ward symbols that glow blue. A smaller Vu Trin woman, with only one glowing sleeve ward, searches the Kelts’ saddlebags.
“What are they looking for?” I wonder.
“Smugglers.”
“Of what?”
Lukas shrugs. “Weapons, spirits...pit dragons.”
Spirits don’t surprise me. Forbidden by our religion, they’re illegal in Gardneria. A number of passages in The Book of the Ancients touch on the evil of intoxication. But my eyes widen at the mention of dragons.
“Pit dragons?”
“They’re a particularly vicious type of dragon,” Lukas explains. “Used as weapons. And for sport.” He turns from the window to glance at me. “They’re pure dragon. They don’t shift.”
I’ve only seen dragons twice. Both times were in Halfix, the dragons high in the sky. They were black Gardnerian military dragons, used for transport and as powerful weapons. But I know there are other dragons rumored to be somewhere in the Eastern Realm. Wyverns who can breathe fire and shift to human form. And Wyrm shapeshifters who breathe lightning and can control the weather.
Our carriage hits a bump and jostles me from my thoughts. It’s all stop and go for quite a while, but soon the traffic lessens and we’re on our way.
After a few hours the rain thins and I gasp as the tops of the northern and southern peaks of the Spine become visible, like two great walls bracketing the entire country of Verpacia. I’ve never seen anything as high as these snowcapped and intimidatingly beautiful peaks.
I’m glued to the window for the rest of the ride. There’s so much to see, the thrill of the unknown lighting me up.
We pass a busy horse market full of foreigners, our carriage slowed to the pace of walking by the heavy road traffic. Fascinated, I take it all in.
Elves are showing off ivory mares, the Elves’ hoods down to reveal gracefully pointed ears and long, white hair decorated with thin braids. Near the Elves are a group of muscular women garbed in black pants, boots and red tunics that shine brightly with fiery crimson rune-marks. The glowing symbols remind me of the blue rune-marks used by the Vu Trin sorceresses, though these women are a far more mixed group. Some are pale with blond hair, and others have skin in varying shades of brown and a rainbow of Urisk hues.
They’re as heavily armed as the Vu Trin sorceresses, and many have facial markings shaped like the runes on their clothing, as well as some piercings. A gleaming metal hoop is stuck right through the bottom of one red-haired woman’s nose, her ears sharply pointed and multiply pierced with dark metallic hoops.
“Amazakaran,” Lukas informs me. “Horsewomen of the Caledonian mountains.”
I stare at them, wide-eyed. “Are they as dangerous as the Vu Trin?”
Lukas laughs. “Just about.”
“They look like they aren’t really one race. Except they’re all dressed similarly.”
“The Amaz allow women of any race to join them.” He smiles at me and motions toward them. “They’d let you in, Elloren. And train you to use an ax like that.”
I gape at him, then look back toward the largest Amazakaran there. Her white-rose hair is braided and pulled back, and her face is heavily tattooed. She carries a huge, gleaming, rune-marked ax strapped to her back, and I jump slightly as the woman sets her fierce gaze on me, her eyes narrowed and dangerous. I whip my eyes quickly away from her, heart thudding, as the carriage gives a lurch forward and whisks the Amaz warrior from my sight.
We press on, and soon we’re traveling through forest and down a winding road, the rain picking up. There’s a clearing up ahead, and the Southern Spine comes into view, the forest falling away.
Rain-fogged Verpax appears, spread out before us, the countless domes and spires of the University city completely filling the immense valley. A haze of golden light from countless lanterns and torchlights hangs in the darkening fog. It’s a gated city, surrounded by a stone wall, the gates bracketed by guard towers.
I stare out over the scene, excitement and trepidation rising in equal measure.
Lukas turns to me, his mouth tilting into a wry smile. “Welcome to Verpax.”
“We cannot allow the Black Witch to be in possession of the White Wand.”
“The White Wand chooses its own path. You know that, Kam. To interfere would be to court disaster.”
The two women stand in the guard tower at Verpax’s entrance gate. They watch through high-arched windows as an elegant carriage makes its way down the winding road that leads to the University. The carriage’s horses press on slowly, their heads bowed by the rain and howling wind.
Every so often, thunder rumbles in the distance.
One of the women, a Gardnerian, is still and calm, her dark green eyes narrowed behind gold-rimmed spectacles as she peers through the diamond-paned glass, her ebony hair tied back into a neat bun.
The second woman, a Vu Trin sorceress, is garbed in a black uniform marked with glowing blue rune-marks. She wears a series of razor-sharp metal stars strapped diagonally across her chest, curved swords sheathed at her sides. Her eyes are dark, her skin a deep brown, and she wears her straight black hair tied into a tight, ropy coil, as is the custom of the Vu Trin soldiers.
“If she is indeed the one, we need to strike her down immediately,” the sorceress says with fierce resolve. “Before she realizes her power. While there is still time.” She sets her cold gaze back on the carriage as a streak of lightning scythes through the sky, flashing against the steel of her weapons.
The Gardnerian holds up a hand in calm protest as she watches the carriage. Thunder cracks overhead. “Patience, Kam. Patience. We must give the girl a chance.”
The sorceress turns her head sharply to face her companion. “Have you forgotten the Prophecy?”
“The Prophecy is vague. The girl has a choice, as we all do. Her future is not fixed. She might not choose the path of darkness.”
“And